The Reincarnation of Henry VIII
by Mrs. Vega
Summary: Harry Potter Historical Fiction  AU :  The soul of Henry VIII has been reincarnated to teach him some lessons about the life he led, but, he's not a very good student.  He's out to destroy the son that he risked so much for.  Rated T in case.
1. Prologue

**Hi All! So, this is an idea that's just begging to be written, so I decided to write it before I start book three of my Son of the Dark Lord series. This is just the prologue and set up, the present day characters will all show up in the following chapters. I will take some liberties with history, and I'll consider this a Harry Potter Historical Fiction. It shouldn't be too long, maybe four or five chapters. I hope you enjoy it. **

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January 29, 1547

While the English people were celebrating the beginning of what they hoped would be a new era, the soul of the recently deceased King Henry VIII was being held in limbo. He had not been sent to heaven or hell, which confused him. He had not even been sent to what he expected purgatory to be. There was simply a vast plane of nothingness.

He was aware of himself _being_but he did not seem to have a body, nor did he seem to have any control over his consciousness. He was unaware of time passing, and he could have been there for years or seconds without realizing it.

Finally, a voice spoke to him. The voice filled the nothingness and filled his entire being. Henry deduced that this must be the voice of god.

"Henry Tudor," it roared, with devastating volume. "You deceived yourself greatly while you were living. You managed to convince yourself that the terrible crimes you committed were, in fact, done so for the greater good of England. You were so focused upon having a son, that you were unable to see what remarkable women your daughters could be. You tormented your wives, and murdered countless people in your ridiculous, unending quest."

Henry thought about what this voice was saying. Had he been wrong, then, to do whatever was necessary to secure the succession? Everyone knew women could not rule, and, as such, he had sought to provide the nation with a male heir. He was a strong boy, who would easily live to maturity and continue the Tudor dynasty for many generations to come. The voice spoke again, sickening Henry with what it said.

"Your son has died hence you have been here. He departed the earth on July 6, 1553. He was fifteen and died childless."

_Edward is dead?_ Thought Henry. _And without issue?_ His carefully constructed world was crumbling. The throne would, indeed, pass to a female. He felt anger boiling inside him. He had done so much for that boy, and he had failed him. However, the voice had not finished.

"Edward declared Jane Grey to be his successor, on the grounds that your daughters were both illegitimate. The Lady Jane Grey was queen for only nine days before Mary defeated her and took the throne. She could have been a great monarch, had you thought to teach her well and show her some compassion in life. Instead you shunned her and drove her to the only comfort she could find: her faith. As such, she started the burnings, which would earn her the name of "Bloody Mary." She married Prince Phillip of Spain, earning her much hatred amongst the people. She will also be forever remembered for losing English control of Calais."

_Calais? _ Gasped Henry. _She lost Calais? And while married to a foreign prince. _Henry was disgusted.

"She, too, died childless on the 17th of November, 1558, naming her sister as her heir. Now, Elizabeth, the daughter of the woman you labeled a whore and a witch will be remembered as one of the greatest monarchs of all time. She brought peace, refilled the treasury, outwitted the monarchs of Europe as well as the pope, defeated a Spanish Armada, and helped bring tolerance to England, all as an _unmarried_ woman. She ruled alone."

_A woman ruling alone? My daughter?_ Henry couldn't believe what he was hearing. To think that the English people had allowed a woman to rule them. And most likely with an iron fist, considering how much like him she had been. Elizabeth would have been perfect in his eyes if she had been a boy.

"As Elizabeth died unmarried and childless on March 24, 1603, she was the end of the Tudor dynasty. All of your plots and schemes were worthless, Henry Tudor. You must learn your lesson. As such, it has been decreed that you, and some of the most important people in your life, shall be returned to earth, and soon. You shall all be placed within close proximity of one another, to ensure your meeting again. You will recognize their souls, but they shall not recognize yours. You shall be given this one chance to rectify your mistakes. If you do not, the consequences will be severe."

The last echoes of the voice faded as Henry contemplated what he had been told. He wondered if this meant he would be able to do everything over. However, every other thought was wiped from his consciousness except that of how badly Edward, the son he had risked everything for, had failed him.

It was this last thought that he held to as he felt himself jettisoned back towards earth.


	2. The First Encounter

**Woo Hoo! 2 Chapters in one day. Maybe another chapter tomorrow. Who knows. You'll probably recognize most of this, but this should be one of the few pieces that I really borrow from J.K.R. Most of it will be entirely original. Anyway, thanks to those who have already added this to story alerts and favorites. **

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Chapter 1: First Encounter

Henry Tudor, who had been reborn as Tom Marvolo Riddle, had very few memories of his previous life. Occasionally he would remember having been very important, and would make the other children in the orphanage defer to him. If they did not, he would punish them with the powers he now had.

One day, shortly after Tom's eleventh birthday, Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, walked into his room and presented a very odd looking man.

"Tom, this is Albus Dumbledore. He is here to speak to you about your new school." Before Tom could reply, she quickly shut the door and left. Tom examined the odd looking man. He was tall, thin, and Tom had the distinct impression he was very old, despite the youthful auburn color of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

Tom observed him through narrowed eyes from his perch on the bed. There was something exceedingly familiar about this man, he simply wasn't sure what. However, he knew he had never met him before in his life. In turn, Dumbledore was observing him as well.

Tom was a handsome boy, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale, with large, hazel eyes. There was a moment's silence.

"How do you do, Tom?" said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand. Tom hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Tom. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. He knew that Mrs. Cole was afraid of the powers he possessed and was constantly on the lookout for someone coming to take him away.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling. "As Mrs. Cole mentioned, I am here to talk to you about your new school."

"I don't believe you," said Tom. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, one he had given many times before. Tom's eyes widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Tom stopped glaring, feeling more wary, still, that this man didn't seem at all intimidated by him. "Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come." Tom's reaction surprised Dumbledore. Tom leapt from the bed and backed away from him, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course — well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you! I order you to leave me in peace!" Astonishingly, Albus Dumbledore did not run, cowering, out of the room. Rather, he smiled and leaned forward.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities —"

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic." There was silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper. The word along was a little frightening to him.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's… it's magic, what I can do?" For some reason, this scared him a little. He had this odd thought, almost like a memory, that magic was terrible and evil and not to be trusted.

"What is it that you can do?" Dumbledore's question broke Tom's train of thought, and he was once again in awe of this new idea.

"All sorts," breathed Tom. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. Again he had a thought, almost as though he remembered making people suffer, making people pay when they annoyed him or didn't do what he wanted. "I knew I was different," Tom whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something. I knew I was better than everyone else."

"Well, you were quite right about being different and special," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard." Tom lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial. For some reason he asked the question he already knew the answer to.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Tom at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —"

"Of course I am!" Tom would never turn down the opportunity to learn even more about these wonderful powers which helped place him in his natural place above everyone else.

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'" Tom's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me —?" He did not dare offend this man for now, at least not until he was assured a place at this school

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Tom jumped to his feet, howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions were in there! But even as Tom rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Tom stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand.

"Where can I get one of those?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe." And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. "Open the door," said Dumbledore. Tom hesitated, as he was not used to taking orders, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it. "Take it out," said Dumbledore. Tom took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved. He was supposed to give orders, not take them.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Tom threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Not at all, sir," he said finally. "They were gifts."

"Open it," said Dumbledore. Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Dumbledore saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts." Tom was staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir." Again, he was not willing to risk his place at this new school. He was certain every child who owned something in the box would admit to gifting it to him, but somehow he believed this Dumbledore would know the truth.

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again. He made sure to keep his face quite blank as he put the little cache of objects back into the cardboard box. Truthfully, he knew that he was above rules, and above laws. He was above everyone. How he knew this, or why this was so, he was not sure, but he knew, innately, that it was true. When he had finished putting away the box, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Tom, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up.

"Certainly, if you —"

"I don't need you," said Tom. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley — sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye. Tom half expected Dumbledore to insist upon accompanying him, but was surprised.

Dumbledore handed him an envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling him exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you — non-magical people, that is — will not. Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —" Tom gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly. "You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms. It is a very _common_ name," muttered Tom. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So — when I've got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too." Tom nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again.

Taking it, Tom decided to unveil a last bit of information that he was sure would impress the old man. "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips — they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Tom's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other, both feeling as though there was something there that they were missing. Tom especially felt that this man was far more than he appeared. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."


	3. Hogwarts

Tom's years at Hogwarts brought back more memories of his previous life, especially as he recognized other souls. The first he recognized was that of Charles Brandon in Alphius Avery. For this reason, Tom befriended him. However, remembering that Charles had betrayed him by marrying his younger sister, he kept an emotional distance between them. Tom swore he would never allow anyone into his heart, as everyone had betrayed him in some way or another.

Early on in his education, Tom discovered a terrible truth, which triggered another memory. His father, Tom Riddle, Sr. had not been a wizard. It had been his mother, Merope Gaunt who was magical. This knowledge cut him deep. It was a repetition of his previous life. It was, after all, his previous mother, Elizabeth, who had been pure royal. His father had royal bastards on both sides of his family tree. His entire line was illegitimate. Now, to find out that his current father was a Muggle, and his mother was a witch who wasn't even willing to stay alive for him? He decided to cast away the name Tom Riddle. He wanted nothing to do with the Muggle who abandoned him. He continued his search and his schooling known to his circle of "friends" as Lord Voldemort. Not long after, almost as a compensation for the terrible revelation about his father, he discovered that his mother was descended from Salazar Slytherin. He also uncovered the legend of the Chamber of Secrets and determined to find it.

As more and more memories were triggered, mostly by discovering in his classmates souls that he recognized from his previous life, Voldemort became more obsessed with immortality. He had looked up his previous life in both Muggle and magical history books. It had not been a happy one. Nor had it been particularly successful. He knew that he could not trust someone to carry on his legacy, as even his own son had failed him in his previous life; he must do it himself. If he lived forever, he would never have to entrust his life's work to another. This idea suited him well. As such, he began searching for the means to extend his life.

Voldemort found many different means of extending life past that of a normal wizard. The Elixir of Life was one option, but he did not want to be dependent upon a stone for the entirety of his existence. What if something went wrong? Someone could steal it, it could be destroyed, and, if not created perfectly, it would kill the owner rather than grant him immortality. No, it was not a foolproof plan. Another option was an ancient druid ceremony tying him to another human. Neither would die while the other survived, but he did not trust anyone enough to link himself to them forever.

Finally, in his sixth year, he found both the Chamber of Secrets and the answer to his quest for immortality: Horcruxes. He had been able to trick the Potions Master, Professor Slughorn, into giving him a permission slip to check out the book _Ancient and Advanced Magicks_. He had found the book while researching a potion for his senior thesis project. He had started his thesis early after hearing about it from some seventh years. Headmaster Dippet had given him a carte blanche pass into the Restricted Section, but he had still needed a permission slip to check out any of the restricted books. _Ancient and Advanced Magicks_ had an entire section on sensing hidden magic, which had enabled him to locate, and open, the Chamber of Secrets.

In the Chamber, he had discovered the Basilisk and had set it on its ancient duty to cleanse the school of all students considered unworthy to study magic. He left this distinction to the innate senses of the Basilisk. Voldemort also found the secret hidden library of Salazar Slytherin himself. Within the library, he found exactly what he had been looking for. The book _The Art of Immortality_ had an entire section on Horcruxes. Voldemort took the book with him to read in the comfort of his room. Once ensconced in his dormitory with the hangings closed and proper wards and privacy spells cast, Voldemort eagerly read about Horcruxes:

_Horcruxes: An Overview_

_A Horcrux is the receptacle in which a witch or wizard has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purposes of attaining immortality. Should anything endanger the life of the witch or wizard who created the Horcrux, the piece of soul tethered to the Horcrux receptacle will remain on this plane, thereby negating the effects of death. As long as the Horcrux is kept safe, the witch or wizard will continue to exist even if his or her body is damaged or destroyed. _

_The Horcrux receptacle is the exact opposite of the human body. Whereas the soul can survive once the body has been destroyed, if a Horcrux receptacle is destroyed, the piece of soul residing within it will be destroyed as well. For this reason, Horcruxes are created with innate protections that will survive unless the receptacle has been destroyed beyond magical repair. As added protection, the creators of Horcruxes typically protect their Horcruxes with layers upon layers of protections, wards, and perhaps even protectors._

_Horcruxes are best made from inanimate objects, as the piece of implanted soul will reside, unchallenged, within the object. Living creatures can be used, but at great risk. Should the creature die, the soul concealed within will be set free. Living creatures also pose the problem of having their own mentality and, in some cases, soul which may battle for supremacy with the soul that has been implanted. Also, when Horcruxes are created using living creatures, the owner of the Horcrux establishes a two-way connection with the receptacle which includes, but is most likely not limited to: mind reading, easy possession, and a degree of control._

The information provided was interesting. Voldemort could think of one place already where he may find a worthy receptacle. However, he kept reading until he came to a description of creating a Horcrux:

_Creating a Horcrux_

_**Step One-Murder**_

_To create a Horcrux, the spell caster must first split his or her soul. The soul can only be split in one way: murder. It matters not whether the person murdered is magical or not, but it must be a human being. It has been suggested that the murder of a Pureblood witch or wizard provides one with a stronger Horcrux, but that has never been substantiated. It has also been suggested that the more violent and cruel the murder, the larger the split portion of soul becomes. This, also, has not been substantiated. It must be said that the act of splitting one's soul causes the main portion of one's soul to become incredibly unstable. _

_**Step Two: Finalizing the Split**_

_The potion to fully separate the split portion of the soul from the main soul takes approximately four hours to brew, and must rest for at least two hours before consumption. As the spell to encase the fragmented portion of the soul must be completed within seven hours once the soul has been split, it becomes obvious why it is suggested that the potion be completed before the actual act of murder. The potion is known as the Soul Separation Solution. The ingredients are as follows: 2 drops of Basilisk Venom, a single Phoenix tear, one cup of blood from a Hungarian Horntail hatchling no more than an hour old (the younger the better), one tablespoon of the blood of a virgin pureblooded witch (must have ancestry traced back at least four generations, the more generations traced, the better), a half cup of blood from a one-year-old unicorn foal, a pinch of powdered moonstone, and a drop of blood from the potion maker. _

_To brew the potion, combine the dragon's blood, unicorn's blood, and witch's blood in a solid gold chalice inscribed with the ancient runes for "eternal life" and allow to rest for one hour. Sit a silver cauldron over a 300 degree fire and allow to heat for thirty minutes. Pour the blood mixture into the cauldron. Bring to a boil while stirring clockwise with a marble stirring rod three centimeters in diameter. Add the powdered moonstone after the potion has been boiling for thirty seconds. After exactly one hour, add the venom and remove the cauldron from the fire. Add the Phoenix tear and lower the temperature of the fire to 200 degrees. Allow mixture to simmer for half an hour. Pour the mixture into a glass chalice and allow to return to room temperature (approximately thirty minutes). Once the mixture reaches 75 degrees, add the final drop of blood and stir clockwise three times with a solid silver stirring rod one centimeter in diameter. Allow to rest in the chalice for at least two hours, three hours is better. Do not allow to rest longer than four hours._

_**Step Three: Encasing the Soul**_

_As mentioned previously, the spell to encase the fragmented portion of the soul must be completed within seven hours once the soul has been split. If the soul fragment is not encased within this time, it will die. To encase the soul fragment within the receptacle, the receptacle must first be magically cleansed of all energies. The incantation to do this is "deleo vi" (deh-LAY-o vee). Once the receptacle is properly cleansed, the caster must remove the soul fragment from his or her body. Point the wand at the heart and speak the incantation: "animam torquere" (AH-nee-m__am tore-KAIR-ay). Remove the wand from the heart, and a small ball of light should hover about an inch away from the wand tip. This light is fragment of soul. Quickly move the wand to the Horcrux receptacle. Push the soul into the receptacle. It should be quite easy as the soul naturally wishes to be within an object. Quickly speak the incantation to seal the soul fragment within the receptacle: "indere animam" (een-DARE-ay AH-nee-mam) before the soul can escape. This completes the actual creation of the Horcrux. It is highly suggested that one rests before completing the next step, as the process of creating the Horcrux is magically taxing to the extreme._

_**Step Four: Protections**_

_The final step of Horcrux creation is magically protecting it. The protections added prevent it from being destroyed my all but the most powerful methods and imbue it with a form of the compulsion charm which compel anyone near it to protect it. There are several spells which form the protections. The first is "Praesidium Absolutus" (pray-CID-ee-um ab-so-LOO-tus) which is incanted while moving the wand in a counter-clockwise circle around the object. Next, a drop of the owner's blood must be applied to the Horcrux while incanting "Defendere" (de-FEN-dare-ay). A wand is not necessary for this incantation. The next incantation involves touching the Horcrux with the wand and speaking "Rapto" (rap-TO). Next, cast the incantation "Impetum Timoris" (eem-PEH-toom ti-MORE-iss) while moving the wand in an "x" formation in such a way that a leg of the "x" is "drawn" with each word. The final incantation is "Tueri Se" (too-EH-ree seh). The wand movement is a small clockwise spiral directly above the center of the Horcrux. _

_This completes the creation of the Horcrux. It is protected from all but the most destructive of magic, and will protect itself in several ways. However, it is advised that the Horcrux be placed in a highly protected area as well._

As Voldemort finished reading, his eyes glowed with excitement. It seemed that a Horcrux would be the perfect way to ensure his immortality. He quickly copied the pages and made plans to visit his good-for-nothing father and his mother's old house. He desperately hoped his grandfather or uncle would still be living there.

***The Gaunt Shack***

Several weeks later found Voldemort walking down the lane to his mother's old home: The Gaunt Shack. He had asked about it in Little Hangleton, which had earned him many odd looks. He could understand why the Muggles kept whispering about him, but he didn't have time to deal with them for now. He was on a mission.

As he approached the shack, he was disturbed to see a dead snake nailed to the door. This angered him. He had a certain affinity for snakes. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and crossed the threshold. The Gaunts' house was indescribably filthy. Voldemort was certain they had never heard of house elves or cleaning spells. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Voldemort could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Voldemort wondered for a moment whether he was dead.

As Voldemort took a step toward him, the boards creaked beneath his feet and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!" And he hurtled drunkenly at Voldemort, wand and knife held aloft.

_Stop._ Voldemort had spoken in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Voldemort. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

_You speak it?_

_Yes, I speak it_, Voldemort answered. Voldemort assessed the man before him with a complete lack of fear. He was clearly too young to be his grandfather Marvolo. His face expressed disgust and disappointment.

_Where is Marvolo?_ he asked.

_Dead_, said the other. _Died years ago, didn't he?_ Voldemort frowned.

_Who are you, then?_

_I'm Morfin, ain't I?_

_Marvolo's son?_

'_Course I am, then…_

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Voldemort, who saw that Morfin wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" asked Voldemort sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it…" Voldemort decided to use an advanced form of Legillimency on his uncle. He needed to know more. However, because of the attack, Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Voldemort picked out that the ring had belonged to the Gaunts for generations. It was the perfect receptacle for his first Horcrux. He also confirmed that the man Morfin was referring to was his father. This was an unexpected piece of good news.

Voldemort gazed at Morfin as he appraised his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off., where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Voldemort did not answer. He had just learned of another option for a Horcrux receptacle. The locket had belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. But first, he would have to find it. That was something for another day, however. First, he had a Horcrux to create. As Voldemort thought, Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit… It's over…"

Voldemort did not appreciate his mother being spoken of in such a way. Certainly she had been weak, but she had given him life. He owed her something. For his dishonor, Morfin would pay, and Voldemort had already worked out exactly what would befall his _dear_ Uncle Morfin.

Voldemort moved forward again and stepped up his mental assault, causing Morfin to stagger. A silent stunner caught Morfin off guard, and he collapsed entirely. Voldemort bound him and took his wand. Revenge would be sweet.

Twenty minutes later, Voldemort was standing before his father and paternal grandparents. He knew instantly why the Muggle townspeople had been so intrigued. He looked exactly like a younger version of his father. He would make sure to modify that later. For now, however, his looks were useful to him.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

"_Father_," Voldemort spat out the word. "I'm surprised you don't recognize me." He made sure to silently bind them all to their chairs. As Tom Riddle, Sr. attempted to stand, they all seemed to realize that they couldn't move.

"Why are you here? What have you done to us?"

"Nothing you don't deserve, _father,_ for abandoning my mother. You left as soon as you found out she was a witch, didn't you? You don't deserve to live, you piece of Muggle filth." While Voldemort would have dearly liked to take his time with this, he had no idea whether any other servants would arrive. He had sent home the handful of servants downstairs in the kitchen with quick uses of the Imperius Curse, but he was sure the evening shift would be arriving soon. He would have to make this quick. "I'm afraid this is good-bye, _father._ You haven't exactly been much use to me. However, as you enabled my birth, I'll leave you for last."

Voldemort cast two killing curses in quick succession, finishing off his grandparents. His father seemed to understand exactly what was happening, and was now eyeing him with a look of complete horror. Such a shame he didn't have time for some fun. He would need to take care of Morfin and return to Hogwarts before he was missed. If he didn't hurry, surely someone would realize he was not part of the Prefect rounds this evening.

"Avada Kedavra!" With his father disposed of, Voldemort canceled the binding charms and returned to the Gaunt shack. He unbound Morfin and cast a light sleeping charm on him. Once the Aurors found him, any signs of the charm would have dissipated. He transplanted the memory of killing the Riddles into Morfin's mind, then returned his wand. His _family_ was taken care of.

After returning to Hogwarts, Voldemort secreted himself in the Room of Requirement to drink the potion and perform the required spells to make his Horcrux. He was chagrined to find that he did, indeed, need to rest after transplanting the portion of soul. He had thought he would be strong enough to continue. No matter, that would be taken care of later. When his work was done, he put on the ring, figuring that was the safest place for it for now. He would find a better place for it during the summer holidays.

***RH8***

With his first Horcrux under his belt, Voldemort felt safer. However, remembering all of the betrayals of his previous life, he felt that perhaps only one Horcrux would be too risky. Should he not have more? After all, having multiple back-up plans was better than having only one.

This new information obsessed him. Voldemort's every waking moment had at least one thought devoted to Horcruxes, ways they could be used and protected, and the best number to make. It was this last idea that saw him staying after one of the "Slug Club" meetings to speak with Professor Slughorn.

This particular meeting, he had brought Slughorn a box of premium crystallized pineapple, which he knew to be the man's favorite. He was now sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through the box of crystalized pineapple, his little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe.

Voldemort was one of half a dozen boys who were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than the professor, and all in their mid-teens. Voldemort was the most relaxed of the students present. He was at home in this setting, as all of the students present were in his closest circle of what he liked to call "courtiers", although they thought they were his friends. Voldemort's right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair, where he could glance occasionally at Marvolo's gold-and-black ring. He liked looking at his trophy.

"Sir is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Voldemort asked suddenly.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Voldemort smiled as the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks. "What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter – thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite –" Several of the boys tittered again. "– I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."

Voldemort merely smiled as the others laughed again. "I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Voldemort caught these looks. And they were supposed to be his friends. He was right in keeping his distance. Although, he was immune to these kind of jibes. He had received them often enough from his courtiers in his previous life.

"Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet." Voldemort was sure Slughorn was correct. He _would _go far, but not in the way Slughorn expected. The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

"Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay in by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery." One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. Voldemort moved toward him, which made Slughorn turn around.

"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"

"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?' Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?" Voldemort could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork, and answered with an explanation Slughorn would grasp at without questioning.

"Not exactly, sir," he said. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

"No… well… you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously –I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could–so I just thought I'd—" Voldemort made sure it was very well done, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. Voldemort was a master at work. After all, he wanted the information very much, and had been working toward this moment for weeks.

"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Voldemort, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Voldemort. Utter nonsense, of course, but it wouldn't do to dive straight into the heart of the matter.

His voice was carefully controlled.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form, few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable." Voldemort knew that was not the case for him. He would do anything not to die again. After all, he had no way of knowing if he would be returned a third time.

"How do you split your soul?"

"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

"But how do you do it?"

"By an act of evil – the supreme act of evil: by committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion –"

"Encase? But how –?"

"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughoin shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it – do I look like a killer?" Voldemort knew he had pushed too hard and too fast. He backtracked quickly, trying to repair the damage.

"No, sir, of course not. I'm sorry… I didn't mean to offend…"

"Not at all, not at all, not offended," said Slughorn gruffly, "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things… Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…" Voldemort decided it was now or never. He could tell Slughorn was withdrawing from the subject.

"Yes, sir," said Voldemort. "What I don't understand, though – just out of curiosity – I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven –?"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case… bad enough to divide the soul… but to rip it into seven pieces…" Slughorn looked deeply troubled now, he was gazing at Voldemort as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Voldemort could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all. "Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"

"Yes, sir, of course," said Voldemort quickly. He didn't want anyone looking too closely at his motives. He got enough of that with Dumbledore.

"But all the same, Tom… keep it quiet, what I've told – that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know… Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it…"

"I won't say a word, sir," said Voldemort, and he left making sure to mask the wild happiness he was feeling.

***RH8***

A year and a half later, Voldemort was standing outside of Hogwarts for the last time as a student. In a few moments, he, and his fellow seventh years, would be returning to the Hogsmeade platform via the boats they had ridden when they arrived as first years. Even Voldemort, who was never sentimental, thought it was fitting. There was no graduation of any kind, as schooling at Hogwarts was optional. Their NEWT and OWL results were what would earn them positions in the wizarding world, not their marks. Hogwarts had merely been a way for them to prepare for the OWLs and NEWTs. Voldemort thought back to his "accomplishments" while at school.

Voldemort had earned an Outstanding on the ten OWL examinations he had taken. He had foregone Divination and Muggle Studies, feeling they were completely unnecessary, and, in the case of Muggle Studies, beneath him.

He had earned a plaque for Special Services to the School for "discovering" the person and creature who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. That oaf, Hagrid, had just happened to have an Acromatula hidden within the castle, which had made for the perfect scapegoat. Hagrid had been expelled for keeping dangerous pets. Voldemort was surprised it had worked so well. Surely SOMEONE would have noticed that the girl who had died did not have a bite mark, or that Acromatula's are incapable of petrifying, but no one had looked too closely at the matter. Of course, knowing that he would have to seal the Chamber again before the Basilisk had been able to finish its destiny, Voldemort had utilized his murder by proxy of that girl to create another Horcrux, this time within a diary. He knew that someday he would be able to give either a follower, or the child of a follower, the diary to complete the cleansing of the school.

Although he had yet to receive his NEWT results, Voldemort fully expected to earn an Outstanding on all ten. As such, Voldemort could practically name his position in the wizarding world. However, he had other plans. He needed to track down Slytherin's locket, as well as other items that would be worthy receptacles for his Horcruxes. He had therefore applied to, and was gladly accepted at, Borgin and Burkes as a buyer, a move that had horrified some of his professors, and stunned most of the student body.

Voldemort also planned to use his time at Borgin and Burkes to research magical means of permanently altering his features. He was outgrowing the usefulness of his father's good looks, and desired to give himself a more fearsome visage. The time was upon him to begin the true creation of Lord Voldemort as an entity the wizarding world would fear forever.


End file.
